“Never you mind. That rotter thinks he can toy with your affections and marry someone else? We’ll see about that. We’re going over to a cocktail party there tonight. We’ll fix that slut Maggie’s wagon.” The large woman in a blue and white print dress waddled to the front door.

“Thank you,” snuffled Gertrude, the Crumpton housekeeper.

The limousine pulled up to the Roberts’ building on Park Avenue. Edda May Crumpton got out, followed by her tall skinny husband, Carlton.

Anne Roberts greeted her old friends at the door. John served drinks and Maggie placed plates of tempting hot and cold hors d’oeuvres around the living room.

Mrs. Crumpton feigned a choking spell. “I’ll just go in the kitchen for a glass of water,” she said.

****

Once in Maggie’s realm, she gestured to her throat and croaked out, “Water!”

Maggie filled a glass and handed it to her. After taking a healthy sip, Edda May turned to the young cook.

“I love your cooking, Maggie.”

“Thank you,” the young Brit responded. She picked at the bric-a-brac on the pocket of her apron.

“Say, why don’t you come cook for me? I don’t have any children. It would be a much nicer job. My kitchen is bigger and I’d pay you fifty per cent more.”

Maggie swallowed. She spied John, hiding in the pantry and motioned him to stay where he was.